


Sleep My Darling

by Fericita, TheSpasticFantastic



Series: When All Is Lost [40]
Category: Frozen (Disney Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:53:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23292769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fericita/pseuds/Fericita, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSpasticFantastic/pseuds/TheSpasticFantastic
Summary: “Elsa!  What have you done?  This is getting out of hand!”In the aftermath of The Accident, Agnarr reflects on his failures as a father.Written for Kingdom of Covid Frozen Angst Challenge.
Relationships: Agnarr & Iduna (Disney), Agnarr/Iduna (Disney)
Series: When All Is Lost [40]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1571230
Comments: 26
Kudos: 47





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Thank you to Fericita for beta-reading this while juggling everything else. You rock!

_“Elsa! What have you done? This is getting out of hand!”_

His words had been ringing in his ears and echoing in his head for the past week. He would give anything to take them back. He had spoken while still stunned at the scope and spectacle of his daughter’s powers. He had been surprised and irritated that she was out of bed after being carefully tucked in. Angry with himself for winding the girls up with stories which – as Iduna had tried to warn him – they were still too young to hear. Tales of magic with disastrous consequences, of dead grandfathers and magical mists that had consumed entire forests. He had only seen the damning evidence of Elsa’s magic glittering high on the walls and columns of the ballroom, reaching up to the ceiling and nearly freezing the heavy doors solid, where anyone could witness it. In those first frenzied moments, when he and Iduna had burst through the door in response to Elsa’s panicked scream, he hadn’t noticed how small and still Anna had been. His wife had, of course, and her horrified gasp had refocused his attention.

He had always thought Iduna was the better parent. He had mentioned as much to Elias, once, who had reassured him that it was always that way. It was natural. It was nature. Mothers were the comforting caretakers. Fathers the stern disciplinarians. Agnarr had considered his own relationship with his father and had to concede that the king had enforced discipline. He couldn’t comment on mothering, growing up without one. There was a nanny who would briskly wipe his nose and tell him chin up, a future king couldn’t cry. And if he went to Mattias for comfort, the man was more likely to offer up a suggested solution instead of a shoulder to cry on. But he had tried to be a loving father who erred on the side of compassion with his girls.

Nonetheless, it had been his wife who had controlled her tongue in the moment of their daughter’s abject pain and guilt. Iduna who had focused on Anna’s injured state without accusation or condemnation. And he had been the one who made it seem as though he placed the blame for what had happened squarely on Elsa’s shoulders. As though she could ever deliberately hurt her baby sister.

“It was an accident.”

That was what she had said.

That was how she had interpreted his thoughtless words.

An accusation.

And in his haste to assess Anna’s injuries, to reassure his wife that he knew what to do, how to save their baby, he hadn’t taken the time to explain himself. Elsa was such an obedient child, diligent, serious in nature with a maturity that belied her youth. She knew the tremendous responsibilities that would be hers one day and she rose beautifully to the task of preparing herself to rule Arendelle. 

Agnarr remembered being much the same as a boy. He also could recall the near crippling perfectionism he had experienced. Agonizing over simple errors in the papers his tutors had him write or when doing problem sets to master arithmetic. How he had worked so carefully to hold himself up like a man and speak like a leader when he was barely an adolescent and had rulership abruptly thrust upon him. He remembered the guilt that he had felt when making decisions that forced some of his subjects to suffer, even if it was unavoidable, even if it spared others from suffering.

She could never have meant to hurt Anna. And what had he said? What had he idiotically made her believe her father must think of her when he had snapped in irritation before realizing the magnitude of the scene before him? Elsa believed that she was to blame. And that her father thought she was to blame. Her distress had been evident in the trail of ice and frost she had left, although he had barely noticed it as it built on his pants and jacket in his haste to reach the trolls. And he had done nothing to comfort her.

He had completely failed to clarify – to reassure her – that he had only meant to express his dismay at her carelessly showing off her powers. For Anna, he had assumed. Good girl that she was, Elsa understood why secrecy was required and never questioned it. She kept her displays for private playtime, conjuring characters and settings and stories for her enthusiastic audience of one. He and Iduna had warned her before, usually laughing because her lapses were mostly harmless, that she had to sometimes deny her sister’s every whim and demand.

He took a long pull from the bottle of brandy as he stared morosely at Elsa’s sleeping form. From time to time, a small flurry of shining flakes would cascade from the ceiling and she would stir fitfully. He had kept a similar vigil with his wife only a few days earlier as they had waited for Anna to wake up from whatever healing magic the trolls had performed. He had given Elsa a few bland words of reassurance and a hug. Then he had excused himself to issue orders to the castle guards and reassign the majority of the staff to unfamiliar roles far away from their familiar haunts. Between that exceedingly unpleasant task and Judet’s revelation that she knew far more about their family than Agnarr had thought anyone would ever know, he had completely abandoned his little girl for nearly two days straight.

Iduna had been falling apart, succumbing to self-blame and recrimination, certain that her heritage had cursed her children to this fate. He seemed to have been able to reassured her, comfort her somewhat, that her Northuldra blood had nothing to do with these events. That some things were beyond their control. He hoped he had sounded more convincing than he felt when he told her that they would solve things. Protect the girls and reunite them before long. The night spent in comfort with his wife had given him renewed hope that they would be able to comfort Elsa and convince her that things would be alright.

It had not gone well.

“It was an accident, Papa,” she had told him. Her eyes large, teary, beseeching as she spoke. “I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

“I know, Princess,” he sat across from her as Iduna cradled Elsa in her lap. A bit lost for what to say, the first thing that came to mind was a line from a philosophical text he had studied as a young man. Something that he had found comfort in when making a difficult decision. “Elsa, evil requires intent.”

His daughter gasped and Iduna’s eyes opened wide in shocked exasperation. The rest of the words died in his mouth as Elsa threw her arms around her mother’s neck and began to sob.

“What your father means, darling, is that we know you would never hurt Anna on purpose. No one thinks that’s what you meant to do.” She glared at Agnarr over Elsa’s heaving shoulders as her tiny body shook.

“That’s right!” Agnarr declared, reaching out and placing his hand on her back.

“I hurt Anna!” She wept. “It’s my fault the castle is getting closed up. That everyone is being sent away!”

“Darling,” Iduna stood and began to bounce her lightly up and down against her shoulder, as though Elsa were an infant again. “No. It’s not your fault.”

“Sometimes these things just happen, Elsa.”

But over the next several minutes, she had coated the floor in two inches of snow as she continued to cry. He had never seen anything like it. It had taken nearly an hour to calm her. His formerly cheerful child who might be a bit anxious, but was hardly prone to emotional outbursts. When Iduna had undressed that night, he had seen the chilblains where their daughter had been pressed against her mother’s dress. Neither of them mentioned it.

Coward that he was, he avoided all talk of fault or blame or intentions. Instead, he had knocked politely and asked his daughter if she would like to review a new trade agreement he was drafting for Weselton. The old tariffs were no longer in their favor and it had been five years. She had sniffled, before drawing herself up and sitting next to him, although not touching him, and carefully reading the document to offer up a few hesitant suggestions which he had praised. He had caught her pacing back and forth in her new room every time he had come to speak with her and studiously avoided making any remarks. He brought her chocolate biscuits while they discussed correspondences. He changed the subject as quickly as possible when she asked about the staff. He reassured her that Anna was fine and lied that she was handling the separation well, as though neither of them could hear her wailing and screaming in impotent rage down the hall.

Elsa seemed to believe him that things would settle.

Agnarr fervently prayed that they wouldn’t settle too much before this was fixed. Before his daughters were damaged beyond repair. And, in the meantime, in the moment, he drank his worry away as he had tried to do when his wife had been giving birth to her and he had been convinced he would lose at least one, if not both, of them. He drank until his throat and gut burned from the brandy and his senses were numb. And he watched her sleep, briskly wiping away the unmanly tears that threatened to fall and thought what a waste a crown was on his head when he couldn’t even manage as a father.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you The-Spaztic-Fantastic for letting me add a chapter! And for reading it and fixing my comma mistakes. I might learn how to do them correctly one day, but eh, why bother since I have you?

“Evil requires intent, Agnarr.”

He looked up, his head bobbing a bit, the brandy making him feel off kilter. Elsa was still asleep and no more snowflakes were hovering overhead, so he hoped it meant she was having peaceful dreams. 

He had not. 

Slumped in the chair at Elsa’s beside, the brandy bottle pressed against his stomach, he had slept in fitful bursts, images of his father gently knocking his chin up with his fist and admonishing him to look sharp, look out, look lively, look like a king. He was more tired now than when he began his nighttime vigil of remorse and sorrow.

Iduna knelt in front of him and lifted the bottle away from him, setting it on the floor. “Will you not heed your own words? Evil requires intent.”

He leaned forward and put his head in his hands, running his fingers through his hair as her hands grasped his elbows. He felt slow and heavy. Her words were hovering around him like Elsa’s snow had been, but he wasn’t ready to let them settle in. He wasn’t ready to take them as truth. Iduna tucked her head against his and put her hands on his, stilling their worried movements on his head.

“Please, Agnarr. Stop torturing yourself. Please. There’s nothing you could have done differently. You knew how to save Anna.” Her hands moved to his cheeks, lifting his face up. She looked at him and he tried to focus on her eyes. Her beautiful eyes. “We will figure out how to save Elsa too. We will.”

“And what if we can’t? What if I’m not up to the job of it?” He whispered his questions, as worried about rousing Elsa as he was about admitting what he failed to do in his imagining of the future. Of their daughter, future queen, distrustful of him and then killed by her own people in a mass of fear and red like the trolls showed them in the glow of the northern lights.

Iduna stood and moved behind him, her hands moving to his shoulders where they kneaded and pressed. Like she could dig her words into his skin so he would believe them. Agnarr felt some of his senses sharpen as she continued to move her hands along his shoulders and arms, some of the fogginess receding as he focused on her touch and her words.

“Even so. That’s far different from evil. From cruelty. You are neither of those things, Agnarr. You are a kind man, and a loving father, and we will figure this out.”

He reached up to squeeze her hand, his thanks an exhale and a straightening in the chair, coming back to himself. “But I was so wrong. To say those words - “

“Yes. It hurt her. But you apologized and she listened. You’ll do better. We all will. This is not the end, Agnarr.”

He nodded, then stood on swaying feet that Iduna helped steady. “I love you, Iduna.”

She hugged him tightly, her head against his chest and her arms around his middle. If she was bothered by the smell of brandy on him, she didn’t say. “I love you too, Agnarr.”


End file.
